Spies and Pilots
by Sir-Blargington
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is shot down over Occupied France and gets help from a Canadian spy whose job is to get pilots like him back to Britain. However this is a task the Canadian would rather not have.
1. Yank Shot Down

_I don't own Hetalia. If I did it would be more historically accurate and Canada wouldn't be such a wimp._

This is loosely based on the shelbourne lines that Canadian spies set up with other resistance fighters to get the downed air pilots out of Occupied France and back to Britain so they could continue fighting.

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><p>Alfred F. Jones had to admit that this time he was really screwed.<p>

It was amazing what one learned about themselves when hurtling downwards to the ground at breakneck speeds in a plane after being shot down. What Alfred learned about himself was that maybe, just maybe he could be a little reckless seeing as it was such a thing that had him standing in the middle of a field next to a now totally useless plane.

That and he also finally realized how screwed he was.

Oh did he mention that this field happened to be in Occupied France. Yeah, fantastic right?

With a sigh that suspiciously sounded like a wine the American pilot turned to trudge onwards. Where? He had no clue but anywhere _had_ to be better than here. German soldiers were surely on their way and Alfred had no intentions of going to a POW camp.

Alfred couldn't help but wonder _how the hell did I get here?_ As he walked through a forest in the middle of the night, cold, tired, and hungry all the while keeping an eye open for anybody who might see himbecause being seen would be a really bad idea.

The pilot wondered why he joined this war. It was cold and brutal. People died by the hundreds without anybody giving a second thought. Unspeakable horrors were happening yet Alfred joined up anyways.

Which was how the young pilot ended up in Occupied France.

However, looking back on his choice, Alfred wouldn't have it any other way. He had always wanted to help people and be a hero. It was his calling in life. People needed help in Europe and he was here to give it.

"Some hero I managed to be..."

While he did try to keep his hopes up along the trek, things were starting to look grim. Even when the farm that was spotted earlier came into view it didn't mean that he was in the safe.

Perhaps the family living there didn't want to help or worse yet, were informers. Plus, Alfred didn't speak a lick of French. Still, there really was no alternative. Either risk getting help or wander Occupied France until he got caught by a German patrol.

And so the normally cocky, arrogant, loud mouth American used all of his skills from the crash course of training he got to sneak up to the house.

Alfred sat on his haunches at the door, ready to bolt, deciding whether or not he should knock when the door swung open.

At the door stood a young man, perhaps his own age, with feathery light blond, shoulder length hair. The stranger glared down at Alfred with unusual coloured eyes, violet-blue, and sighed.

"Un autre américain stupide abattu eh?"

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><p>*Another stupid American shots down eh?<p>

Sorry for the bad French...(I had to use a translator)

Reviews are love, cookies, maple scones, and perhaps more chapters.


	2. Frog Interrogation

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, but that's pretty obvious. _

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><p>Alfred couldn't help but feel ridiculous crouched down at the door staring up at a man who was glaring down at him like he had just pissed on his lawn.<p>

It felt like an eternity that they were like that, where Alfred honestly thought that he was finished. However, finally the young man threw his hands up, muttered something in French (or so Alfred assumed because he really didn't know, the only language he thought worth knowing was _American_) and turned around, calling out something else into the house. Another voice, this one deeper, said something back.

A man appeared from around the corner of a hall or room. He looked remarkable like the man who opened the door. He had the same wavy hair andslight build but looked older and had a slightly scruffy beard growing. The two were perhaps brothers or cousins. Whatever they were, they clearly knew each other well from the looks of how they talked.

It was at this point that Alfred really wished he knew what they were saying. The only words he managed to catch were _stupide _and _American_coming from the younger blond. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was saying.

Suddenly he found himself being ushered inside and being directed to a couch by the older blond while the man who opened the door went around the living room peeking through the closed curtains, presumable to make sure no one saw Alfred enter the house.

"Common t'apple tu?"

"Uh, pardon?" French, Alfred would soon learn was his nemesis.

"What is your name mon ami," The older man asked with a heavy, but intelligible accent.

"Staff Sergeant Alfred F Jones of the United States Army Air Force"

"What part of America?"

"Uh, why does this matter?"

"Just answer the question" The younger man, who was leaning against a nearby wall, snapped. Surprisingly he _didn't _have an accent. This day kept getting weirder.

Alfred ended up answering all of the questions. Some which were rather strange, like about his home town.

"Seriously, why do you need to know this?" Alfred asked getting impatient, hungry, and tired. It looked like the sun was starting to rise from the light filtering through the curtains!

"Because if you answer them wrongly then we will kill you. Fortunately we have decided that you aren't a spy monsieur Jones." The older man said in all seriousness.

"Well that is fortunate," Alfred said dryly, still not feeling very fortunate with the information that he was almost killed just because he might have forgotten the name of a convenience store.

"It is monsieur Jones. Others have not been so lucky." The French man said in all seriousness before abruptly changing moods and getting up "Now, you must eat, there is going to be a long journey ahead." The pilot, once again was ushered to another part of the small farm house where his interrogator got him some food.

The 'meal' Alfred was expecting didn't exactly live up to what he got. It was a little more than some dry bread, some wine, and watery stew. He had half the mind to complain he noticed the other two weren't eating at all.

"Don't you have anything to eat uhm...?" Alfred asked realizing that he did not know either of their names.

"My name if Francis Bonnefoy* and my rather icy friend whom is still in the living room is called Mathieu Williams. And to your questions no, we don't have any food. Mathieu and I were just going to be leaving this safe house soon anyways." Francis explained.

Alfred hesitated but when his stomach gave a loud growl couldn't put off eating any more.

When he finished eating, Alfred leaned back with a content sigh. He must not have eaten for more that twelve hours and had no sleep for even more. He wanted to go to bed but was curious about the other man, Mathew as Francis had called him. Alfred also wanted to know what he did to piss him off so much.

"So..." Alfred started casually (but in reality failing at that badly) "Are you and Mathieu related or something?"

"Oui, _Mathieu_ is a distant relative that joined to help out with the Resistance Effort.**" Francis replied watching the American carefully, as if to try and figure out what he was at.

"Oh...So, what does he like?"

Francis laughed abruptly. "Amérique***, if you are curious in him then I could always set up some alone time to make _L'Amour_"

"W-what?" Alfred felt his cheeks go red. While he didn't know what 'l'amour' was, it sounded _very_ suggestive. Especially the way Francis said it. "I just wanted to try and make it up to him for pissing the guy off so badly!"

The French man raised a disbelieving eyebrow but let it go anyways. "Ah, Mathieu is just...annoyed at the moment. He didn't want to be assigned on this job of as he called it 'hold some dumb pilot's hand while I get them out of the country'. He has come across several pilots that have almost gotten their cover blown that is all." Francis sighed "Unfortunately there is nothing you can probably do."

Alfred crossed his arms, almost instinctively in the face of a challenge. A challenge was what it seemed to be. He was interested in the young spy. Why? Alfred could not say. Perhaps it was the way Mathew held himself that got Alfred's respect or the fact.

The pilot mulled this over while he laid in the makeshift bed Francis arranged for him. Alfred knew

he should be catching up on sleep while they waited for nightfall but he was busy trying think of ways to warm up to Mathew. Slowly though, Alfred drifted off to a fit full sleep of planes and running and blonds glaring down at him.

Alfred awoke to someone tentatively trying to shake him awake. He opened his eyes to see Mathew looming over him.

Instantly he knew something was wrong. For starters it was still day and more importantly, Mathew had a very worried look on his face. He appeared to be trying to hide it but the air of danger was unmistakeable.

Before he could ask anything Mathew put a hand on Alfred's mouth and whispered

"There are German soldiers here."

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><p>*What is your name (awwwww yeah I still remember <strong>some<strong> French)  
>**In reality this <strong>would not happen<strong>. Spies would _never_ give out this information, buuuut for story purposes I'm going to do so anyways.  
>***No, they are not the countries, I decided America would be a nickname Francis would call Alfred<br>Incase you are wondering, spies would grill downed pilots on abitrary things just to make sure that it wasn't a German spy.

Urrrrrrrrrrgh, I didn't like this chapter...Mattie! Where were you? You are suppose to be a main character QwQ I promise next chaper things will start happening!

Reviews are great and constructive criticism is welcome!


	3. Ice Cold Canuk

Alfred thought his heart was going to burst out his chest. 'Germans? Here?' Sure he had many close calls up in the air, pilots had one of the highest fatality rates, but that was different. Up in the air you had power and agility like nothing else. It was easy to fight back if you had the right skills and reflexes, down on ground Alfred felt, well, grounded.

Panicked, he tried to speak but the only sounds came out were muffles from Mathew's hand over his mouth.

"Shut up!" Mathew hissed at the American under his breath. He cocked his head to the side as if trying to listen to what was happening but it was futile. They needed to get closer to properly hear what was going on. Mathew slowly pulled his hand away from Alfred's mouth but kept a stern glare on him as if to say 'keep your mouth shut or you will regret it'. Alfred swallowed nervously but nonetheless nodded in compliance.

Mathew cupped a hand around his ear and made little walking movements with his fingers, trying to get across that they needed to get closer to hear. It was like a ridiculous game of charades and if the situation wasn't so dire Alfred might have laughed.

Slowly they both got up and crept out of the guest bedroom. Thankfully that room was near the kitchen where they could hide and lean against the door adjoining the kitchen and living room and listen in on what was happening.

Alfred had half a mind to simply go out the back door and run before the house got surrounded but he knew Mathew wouldn't leave without Francis unless something serious happened.

Something was wrong. Well something other than Germans showing up. No, something about this whole situation felt wrong to Mathew.

He woke up with a start upon hearing tires crunching on gravel. Why did they come back? Earlier while the American was asleep some soldiers came by asking questions. They knew that the downed pilot had to be around somewhere so they were grilling everybody in the area about the whereabouts of the pilot. Francis had dealt with them though, saying he heard something rustling around and saw a vague figure in the bushes, but figured it to be an animal of some sort and that it had run off before he really saw what it was.

So when he saw those familiar trucks pulling up again he ran to wake the American instead of going straight to Francis.

Now here he was leaning against a door right next to a man that could be the death of them all but one he was going to protect no matter what. He looked over at said man, Mr. Jones his mind annoyingly supplied, examining the strained, anxious look that Mathew knew was on his face as well. The American looked over at him too and nodded with a grim look on his face before they both put their ears against the door to listen.

"…-nough!" A deep, thickly German accented voice said in a booming voice. "Just speak English so we can get this over with quickly!"

"Oui…I mean yes, okay that is fine with me," they heard Francis say. He didn't sound worried or afraid like Mathew thought he might be. Then again Francis was a spy for a while so he would probably have a perfect poker face.

"The American bomber that was shot down, you saw him yes?" There was a silent pause and Mathew didn't dare breath. Why wasn't Francis automatically denying what the German asked. "Remember whose side you are on now." The German warned.

"O-oui, I saw him…." Francis solemnly said.

Mathew froze. He couldn't believe it. He _refused_ to believe that this was happening. There was some mistake. This was a trick. This was…was… He couldn't even think of a fitting term. Instead he slid down against the door in shock trying to come to terms with the situation.

Francis Bonnefoy turned traitor.

Mr. Jones was suddenly kneeling next to him, visibly worried. He grasped Mathew's shoulder a shook him lightly "Hey we gotta blow this place," He frantically whispered. "Then go," Mathew said and shoved the American's hand off him. "Sorry but I ain't gunna do that. This obviously is as much a shock to you as it is to me."  
>"I somehow doubt that," Mathew cut in.<br>"So I can't just leave ya. I'm a Hero after all!" He lamely finished. This seemed to snap Mathew out of his faze somewhat. It reminded him that he had a duty to finish.

Shoving aside any thoughts of Francis and his feelings of betrayal, Mathew got up and whispered "Follow me, we'll try and go out the back door. Hopefully they didn't bring a bunch of soldiers, thinking that they wouldn't need them if they had inside…inside help."

Alfred pulled out his hand gun, it was better than nothing, and stood ready by the back door as Mathew carefully opened it and peered outside. Unfortunately there was a soldier outside but he had his back to them. Like a flash Alfred moved, bringing the butt of his gun down on the soldier before he could turn around and see them. The German crumpled and Mathew moved to catch him and lower him quietly to the ground.

"Now what?" Alfred asked

"Now we make our way to the forest and after….uh I'll figure that out…later," Mathew replied rubbing a hand across his face.

It was very late into the night by the time Mathew let them stop. Alfred wanted to stop hours ago, whining about being tired but each time Mathew would snap at him to shut up, then remind him that' they got away far too easily and more distance had to be put between them and the Germans.'

The American flopped down on the ground and eyed Mathew. He seemed normal, not that Alfred really knew him much, but he was still wary about the spy; like he might break down any minute.

"Hey…are you going to be okay?" Alfred asked tenderly, now that there was finally a chance to talk.

"I'm fine!" Mathew snapped but his face looked like he was in pain. He jaw was clenched, eyebrows were furrowed, and eyes were glaring at everything and anything.

Alfred opened his mouth to say something but realised that anything he said wouldn't be enough. Instead he shifted over, sitting beside Mathew and awkwardly wrapped his arms around the Canadian. Mathew of course tried to push Alfred away "I'm not a child, I don't need comforting dammit!"  
>He hissed. Alfred just tightened his grip "It's cold out here you know and we can't make a fire." He explained but Mathew understood and instead just leaned into the American's embrace and burrowed his face in the leather jacket so his face couldn't be seen.<p>

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><p>Guh, I'm so sorry it took me so friggen long to update Dx I wish I could say this chapter makes up for it buuuut I don't really like how this chapter turned out. It took me a few days so write too D<p>

Franciiiiis I'm sorry I made you evil ;A; It was really hard to do but I wanted this story to be somewhat realistic and not a fic where everything is ~*Perfect*~ Druring the War there were actually a lot of French people who basically gave up hope and helped the Germans or schmoozed up to the Germans to get a better standard of living. To make Francis not a total asshole I decided to make him the former and not the latter. Now the question you're probably asking; Will. He. Come. Back? Dundundaaaaa You shall have to wait and see...


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